Already Tomorrow
by Paradoxos
Summary: ‹If I was born a female, then maybe it would be easy for us to be married... Then again, if I was a woman, I wouldn't be your best friend.› ‹Tezuka x Oishi›


**Disclaimer: Standard disclaimer applies.**

**A/N: **It's been two months already... Heh heh... And I'm out of excuses for not updating properly... But, enjoy? Maybe?

**WARNINGS: Lime. Very obvious innuendos.**

* * *

**Already Tomorrow**

And he brings himself one more step forward.

This time the polished oak door is directly before him, where he did not need another full or half step to approach. He could touch its surface completely, with the length of any of the five fingers and the full flat of his palm, without even extending his arm to its maximum length.

He fished out his ring of keys with a hooked finger from his pocket depths.

Slowly.

Slowly.

Slow down more.

Slow down a bit more.

He chanted mentally, and kept repeating until he could no longer differentiate whether it was a command to his hand retrieving his keys or a desperate request made to Time itself.

In the end, all his procrastination branched out from one source.

Fear.

He could unlock and open the door at any time.

But just not now.

And the moments of now keep passing; the door remains locked, unopened.

Unknown to him, his desperation became so overwhelming and forceful, that it became a silently sounding siren calling for help.

And help took form in the automatic opening of the door.

The door he had to open.

The door he was afraid to open.

Brought back from desperation to the reality before his eyes, attention and concentration removed themselves from the ring of keys he had no intention of putting to work from their resting place in his palm.

He looked up.

Tiger eyes held his figure captive in their amber prisons.

"You are late." The other's voice, at freezing point matching his gaze, became icicles edged slightly with blame and irritation.

He almost shivered.

"…Aa…" He wanted to apologize, wanted to offer "I'm sorry, Tezuka" and give a random excuse or lie.

Yet, while his tiger eyes may allow the lie to escape through his mouth, they will hunt down and kill its glimmering shadow left behind in his green forest eyes.

With no other words, he pulls him into the apartment dimly lit by the luminescence-wheel's silver rays intruding through the windows.

And Tezuka allowed the last minimal remaining of his reasoning to shut the door, and shut everything as unnecessary and extraneous as other human witnesses outside.

He pressed him against the door.

His mouth advances, finding and preying on his hungrily.

Eyelids fell naturally. Or rather, they appeared to have been squeezed shut in defending himself from the impact of the ambush.

He, the innocent victim, could only reclaim a fraction of the breath denied him when his lips parted to welcome the other's entering tongue.

While he busily deprived him of air, his hands once holding him in place ventures to his clothes, his fingers skillfully surrounding and undoing each button.

First, his jacket is slid off.

Then, his shirt.

Each time, he was allowed a second's break from the door's surface.

When his lips finally departs from his, granting his lungs the privilege to feed upon the wandering pieces of breathable air in the thick atmosphere of intimacy, his opens his eyes to discover the other's luminous orbs watching him with the heat and fervor contrasting previous moments.

A pause.

And he knows, it shall be the only precaution, warning, he will receive before his companion's violent tempest devours him wholly, confining him until he is tattered and worn by fatigue.

* * *

From the oak wood door, to the dining room's table, to the living room's couch, to the coffee table on which their furious overlapping shadows are clearly reflected, to the rough carpeted floors, and finally arriving at their destination upon the ocean of soft blankets on their love bed---the two never broke apart. 

How much time passed? How many hours?

He wondered.

And the one evidence he is able to collect to conclude that long hours have fleeted is from his own body---where countless penetrations have numbed his senses in the lower half of his body.

While he easily matched and responded with his partner's same passion and fury once upon a time, he laid limp now, his mind commanding him to move, but his body willing the opposite.

He felt faint.

The thought of sleep tempted him.

Yet, determination was the force that pried his heavy eyelids open each time with the aid of fading reasoning reminding him of what little time he had left.

Yes, he did not have much time left.

A single tear fell, provoked by the thought.

The single tear differed from all other tears he cried that night.

Those tears ecstasy conceived.

This tear was the exact reminder of the reality he attempted to escape from, to deny, all this time.

His partner, even without his glasses to repair his vision, detected that single droplet falling individually, separate from its siblings.

The despair it carried shone too brightly in the darkness in the middle of the night.

It could not be neglected.

And it effectively extinguished all his flames of desire.

He withdrew from within him, falling beside him upon the mattress.

His eyes peered up at the once pure white ceiling now contaminated by the melancholic gray of night.

"…Tomorrow… is it?"

Tomorrow's day will come to clean off the paint that night has smothered on the ceiling and walls, and what will be left will only be the gray of his own shadow.

His shadow alone.

"Yes, Tezuka… Tomorrow."

Tomorrow shall be the finale to the previous days in which his companion's belongings disappeared slowly, in a series.

Tomorrow, his companion will also disappear.

And what will remain, as proof that someone besides himself had once occupied this sanctuary, will be the remaining scent of fleeting intimacy and the disheveled bed.

"It cannot be helped…" He decided quietly, in his usual gentle voice. "If I was born a female, then maybe it would be easy for us to be married."

"…"

"Then again, if I was a woman, I wouldn't be your best friend."

Irony.

Above the blankets moist with their sweat, he felt Tezuka grasp his hand.

His hand that would be holding someone else's smaller, more delicate hand tomorrow.

Yet, the other holds on, as if holding on, he can believe that he could hold on till eternity.

The eternity that would end upon tomorrow's arrival.

Beside him, he felt the light movement of his companion contributing his body heat to his body slowly cooling from night's chilling touch.

The warm new moisture he feels against his chest burns his skin initially.

Then it chills him, more than the night, chilling and freezing his heart once beating to excitement.

To fulfillment.

To happiness.

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**Authoress's Notes:**

Yet another tragic, "Cocktail" fic-alike... I apologize, but I get trapped in that phase a lot... Yes, the tragic phase.**  
**

There is still much for me to accomplish before I retire from this fandom.

On a random note, I think when writing a fic centering around two boys, you would have to address them by their names a lot... Because readers really can't tell "him" from "him" apart... (sigh)

Always, thank you for reading!


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